This was Fang Chen’s first time watching a boxing match.

Originally, he was supposed to go with Jamin, but Jamin said he’d been so hurt by the fake tickets that he now had a stress reaction to boxing matches and really couldn’t make it.

Fang Chen had no choice but to go alone.

He dug a pair of overalls out of his closet and put them on, grabbed a baseball cap, looked in the mirror, then took the hat off again; his hair was a bit fluffy, and Fang Chen impatiently ruffled it with his fingers, then headed out just like that.

When he arrived at the arena, a huge poster was already hung outside, with lots of people taking pictures underneath.

Fang Chen found a gap where no one was around and took a photo with his phone too.

He didn’t know how the camera was angled, but in it, Seth was looking down, his expression carrying an aura of superiority. There was coldness and indifference in his gray-blue eyes.

Fang Chen couldn’t help but wonder—was this how Seth looked every time he looked down at him? He was so much shorter, after all.

He followed the crowd inside for ticket check, sighing to himself about how he could get a bit taller at his age.

The ticket Seth gave him was a great seat, very close to the ring.

No sooner had he sat down than he heard people around him discussing the match. Fang Chen had mild social anxiety and looked uneasy without knowing anyone nearby.

Suddenly, an electronic broadcast sounded—the match was about to begin.

Fang Chen immediately sat up straighter, inexplicably nervous.

The two fighters were already by the ring getting ready, putting in mouthguards, wrapping hands and so on.

He heard people around calling Seth’s name. Fang Chen tried hard to stretch his neck to see, but was limited by his height and the packed crowd, so he could only sit back in frustration.

Soon, under the referee’s direction, the fighters entered the ring.

Amid deafening cheers and screams, he saw Seth step onto the ring.

With customized black vest and shorts, black gloves, he loosened his wrists, sharp gold hair falling down, making his brows and eyes look even colder and sharper.

Fang Chen was stunned.

It was the first time he’d directly seen Seth in the ring, like a wolf crouched ready to pounce, his big frame full of dangerous wildness and power.

Fang Chen couldn’t quite describe his feelings; it was like a wad of cotton stuffed in his chest, making it hard to breathe for a moment.

Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought Seth glanced over in his direction, gray-blue eyes pausing briefly before carelessly shifting away, then his lips curled ever so slightly.

The screams grew louder.

Fang Chen licked his lips, feeling his throat tighten.

Quickly, the first round began.

Before this, Fang Chen had no knowledge of boxing, not even watching related videos, so when the fists really started flying, his heart was pounding.

After several rounds, Seth was holding up better than his opponent but still took a few punches. The last one, Fang Chen saw clearly, landed on Seth’s abdomen, and for several seconds, Fang Chen forgot to breathe.

Until the tenth round.

Seth KO’d his opponent with a right uppercut.

When the referee raised Seth’s hand to announce his victory, Fang Chen finally relaxed and let out a heavy breath. He touched his arm and realized that in the heat of the moment, he was actually freezing.

So timid!

Fang Chen silently scolded himself.

How could just watching a match scare him like this?

He sat in his chair for a while to recover, then slowly got up and followed the crowd out.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fang Chen thought it was Jamin or his boss, but when he checked, it was actually Seth.

A newly minted boxing champion, with the crowd still buzzing about him, was calling Fang Chen at that very moment.

His phone was still vibrating; Fang Chen hastily answered, lips pressed together, not even daring to call Seth by his name.

Fortunately, Seth wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat—he went straight to the point: “I’ve told them. Take the VIP passage to the backstage.”

Fang Chen’s head was full of question marks.

Why go backstage?

“No need, you just finished your match, you should rest…”

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my win?” Seth interrupted.

Fang Chen stopped, replying dryly, “Congratulations.”

“In-person congratulations are more sincere.”

The man’s deep voice came through the receiver, flowing straight into Fang Chen’s ear. “I’ll be waiting for you in the backstage lounge.”

So in the crowd, a boy in overalls made his way against the flow, used his ticket to easily pass through the VIP lane, and found Joey waiting outside the backstage door.

“Hey, cutie, over here. Come with me. Seth sent me to fetch you.”

Fang Chen hesitated, but went over obediently as Joey slung an arm around his shoulders, acting chummy. “Seth sent me, so I knew it’d be you—after all, I’ve never seen anyone else get him to pick up trash at the beach.”

Fang Chen stiffened awkwardly. “You were there that day?”

“We were having a barbecue. Hahahahaha—”

Joey’s laughter cut off sharply as he saw Seth standing at the lounge door, arms folded, expressionless.

Joey instantly felt a chill, quickly pulling his arm back.

“Delivery completed. I’ll wait in the car.”

After Joey hurried off, Seth turned to Fang Chen, his gaze softening and voice low: “Did you cheer for me during the match?”

“Of course.” Fang Chen nodded quickly. “You were awesome.”

When the boy nodded, two tufts of hair on his head bounced, making Seth want to reach out and pat them, maybe give that soft black hair a rub.

It must feel really soft.

But Seth refrained and instead draped the jacket he was carrying over Fang Chen’s shoulders. “The club’s going out for dinner after. Come with me.”

“No, I don’t know anyone. You guys go ahead,” Fang Chen refused right away.

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone brings friends. You’ll just sit next to me. No need to talk to anyone else,” Seth said seriously.

Fang Chen bit his lip, hesitating.

“Fang Chen, I’m really happy you came to watch my match. I can’t let you go home hungry.”

Whenever Seth called his name so precisely, Fang Chen’s attitude softened a little.

After a short struggle, he agreed, “Okay then.”

After walking with Seth for a bit, he finally realized he was now wearing Seth’s oversized jacket—the hem nearly reached his calves, making him look like a kid in grown-up clothes.

He also noticed Seth had changed into another set of clothes, all carefully covering his body.

Fang Chen couldn’t help but ask, “Does it hurt?”

Seth: “Hmm?”

“On stage earlier, you took a few hits.”

Fang Chen thought, if he’d been hit that many times—no, just twice—he’d need to prepare for his next transmigration. Seth, though, was acting completely normal, even going out for dinner.

Of course it hurt. Seth was human, after all, but he could tolerate pain. Unless it was a really serious injury, some stretching and relaxation after leaving the ring was usually enough.

He answered mildly, “Not too bad.”

Fang Chen replied “Oh”, then awkwardly added, “Still, try to avoid getting hurt.”

After speaking, he felt like he was stating the obvious. In a boxing ring, who can control whether they get hurt?

Fang Chen felt like biting his tongue.

Why did he always get tongue-tied around Seth, speaking weirdly, like his brain hadn’t fully developed?

But Seth just smiled, nodded. “Alright.”

Fang Chen awkwardly turned his head. By accident, his hand brushed the pocket on the jacket, finding something round and bumpy inside.

It wasn’t his coat, so Fang Chen obviously couldn’t just stick his hand in, but curiosity got the better of him. He asked what was inside.

Seth glanced down and answered matter-of-factly, “A mascot. For good luck in the match.”

Never thought a foreigner would be superstitious!

Fang Chen gave his approval. “That’s useful, then.”

Seth smiled without replying.

If Fang Chen put his hand inside right now, he’d find that so-called mascot was actually the little lamb’s tail he’d yanked off Seth’s butt ages ago.

Two silver-gray vans were parked at the back door of the arena.

Probably to spare Fang Chen’s embarrassment, Seth chose the van with only the driver and a nearly-sleeping Joey inside; everyone else sat in the other van.

As soon as they got in, Joey perked up, eyes constantly darting over Fang Chen, but didn’t dare say anything with Seth nearby.

After staring a while, Joey started to feel Fang Chen looked familiar, but just couldn’t recall where he’d seen him.

“If you want to lose your eyes, I can help,” came Seth’s icy voice from the front.

Joey looked away fast and couldn’t help grumbling. “Seth, you’re so stingy. Can’t I even look at your little cutie?”

At the nickname, Fang Chen’s ears burned.

Foreigners were always so affectionate when talking, and Fang Chen still hadn’t gotten used to it.

Thinking about it, he glanced at Seth.

But Seth seemed different.

He treated Fang Chen just like the polite manners back home, never too close, never crossing boundaries.

As Fang Chen was lost in thought, Joey suddenly exclaimed, “I remember!”

He looked at Fang Chen with shining eyes. “I saw you at that party—you were that little lamb!”

Fang Chen’s eyes went round. How did he—ah! It was him—the guy who invited him to kiss with two other people!

Joey clapped his hands. “So you and Seth got together at the party? Seth, you’re so sneaky. No wonder you left early—you went to be with your cutie.”

Fang Chen turned away miserably.

Got together? More like got tied together!!

He’d been kidnapped, okay!!!

Seth’s big hand landed on Joey’s neck, his voice sinister: “Want me to throw you straight out of the car?”

“Seth! You brute…”

In the private dining room…

Just as Seth said, Fang Chen sat beside him, the other side left empty, not awkward at all.

Maybe Seth had warned everyone ahead of time, because people seemed extra reserved, especially toward Fang Chen, giving forced friendly smiles.

Fang Chen was relieved—the mood was much less awkward than he feared.

No need to socialize, just eat.

Midway through, a waiter served up a small clay pot; inside was the fragrant aroma of chicken and mushroom congee.

Fang Chen was stunned.

Wasn’t this a Western restaurant?

Seth dished up a bowl for him, sounding natural. “The chef knows how to make some Chinese dishes. I ordered this especially for you. Try it.”

A hot bowl of congee warmed his belly and nearly brought tears to Fang Chen’s eyes.

He hurried to flatter, “Seth, you’re great.”

Seth raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then you agree to go to the ranch with me?”

“What?”

Wait… ranch?

Joey jumped in, “Seth owns some ranches! Come play on the ranch with us, Chen!”

Under Seth’s stern warning, Joey didn’t dare call him “cutie” again.

Fang Chen was dizzy, instinctively looking at Seth. “Are you a ranch owner?”

“You could say that.”

Seth gave him another bowl of congee, saying offhandedly, “There are lots of animals on the ranch—lambs included.”

“You’ll love it.”

__

Author’s note:
*Non-canon bonus scene
(The ranch owner and the slave)

He’s not a ranch owner in the traditional sense.

He’s delicate, fair-skinned, black-haired, looking more at home in a castle than on a ranch.

But he loves wielding his little whip, patrolling his domain.

“Why is there a bottle of sheep milk missing from yesterday?!”

The spoiled ranch owner let out his frustration on the slave, whip cracking, leaving a red line across the man’s chest.

But the slave seemed unfazed; instead, he knelt on one knee and helped the ranch owner buckle his tiny leather boot.

Compared to the ranch owner, the slave was huge and sturdy, easily grasping the rancher’s soft white leg in one hand, the flesh spilling between his fingers.

“Please let me explain, Master. You drank that bottle of sheep milk last night—I fed it to you when you were a bit out of it. After you finished the milk, you even bit me. See, there’s still a mark on my chest.”

“Of course, it’s very cute.”